


things we lost in the fire

by takethebreadsticksandRUN



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blindness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Light Comfort, M/M, Songfic, and yes i ship LonelyEyes, for it is sailing strong and true, just wanted to check on my couples after the watchers crown, pretty angsty, take hope chirren in the ship jonmartin, the world outside is scary and big and angry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24726739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethebreadsticksandRUN/pseuds/takethebreadsticksandRUN
Summary: A look at how our favorite couples are coping with the aftermath of the Watchers Crown.ORI have a weakness for songfics and this one was just too perfect.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	things we lost in the fire

**Author's Note:**

> aloha peeps! this turned out wayy better than i expected, i managed to hammer out like seven pages in an hour which felt HECKA GOOD. writers block who?! anyways hope y'all enjoy reading this, the LonelyEyes ship is probably my favorite part honestly.   
> the song is 'things we lost in the fire' by bastille.  
> your comments and kudos make my day!  
> xxx

“Melanie! I’m home!” Georgie called from the hall of her little flat. From deeper within came the sound of something being knocked to the ground and rapid curses. “Hang on, let me help you,” she shouted, hurriedly kicking off her shoes.

“Oh, Mel…” she sighed when she entered the living room. “I’m so sorry.”

On the floor sat a very angry looking woman, her once short hair now hanging limply past her ears. A pile of books lay heaped at her side, obviously just knocked from their previous home.

Melanie grit her teeth, tightening the bandage around her eyes. “It’s fine, I don’t need your apologies,” she said, frustrated. “It was this or stay in that _horrible_ place.”

**_Things we lost to the flames_ **

**_Things we’ll never see again_ **

Georgie crossed the room and put a hand on her shoulder, a silent _I’m here_. “What can I do to help?” she asked, picking up the books with one hand and stacking them neatly on the coffee table.

She groaned, from pain or anger she didn’t know. Probably both. “You don’t need to do that,” Melanie said.

“Do what?”

“Take care of me. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

“Melanie King, you are sitting on the floor of my flat having a mental breakdown because you just blinded yourself. I think I’m entitled to at least a little bit of fussing,” Georgie said, laughing a little bit. It was either try and laugh her way through this situation or cry, and she doubted crying would do much help for any of them.

“I guess,” she said quietly. “Can you get me some painkillers, please? I can’t remember where I put them, and I swear your flat keeps changing shape every time I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

“Of course.” Georgie stood and headed to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, reaching for a small orange bottle in the back. “Water?” she asked.

“I’ll take them dry,” she said in a defeated voice.

As Georgie was handing the pills to her, a low rumble came from outside the window. “What was that?” she asked.

“I’m blind, remember?” she smacked the side of her head lightly.

“Oh yeah, sorry.”

Melanie laughed. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

Outside, the rumbling grew to a roar. Georgie opened the blinds and looked at the sky.

“Oh no,” she breathed.

**_All that we’ve amassed_ **

**_Sits before us, shattered into ash_ **

“What is it?”

“Right, sorry. Um, the sky looks really weird. It’s dark, like before a big storm, but kind of greenish? The sun is gone, I don’t know if it’s behind a cloud or-“ She took a deep, steadying breath.

“Where’s the sound coming from?” Melanie asked, her brow furrowed.

“I can’t tell. Something is swirling off in the distance, it looks like a… but that can’t be.”

“Georgie, I love you but will you please finish your sentences? You’re keeping me in the dark here.”

“It looks like a tornado forming or something A big mass of _red clouds_ is twisting and swirling, and now it’s touching down on the ground and- oh. Oh no.”

A cacophonous wailing began to grow louder and louder, screams and laughter, and the unmistakable crackling of fire.

“It’s spreading over the city, the lights are going out, something’s _wrong Melanie._ ” Georgie backed up from the window, hands over her mouth. She sat down next to her and wrapped an arm around Melanie. “The sky. It’s _looking back at us._ ”

**_These are the things, the things we lost_ **

**_The things we lost to the fire, fire, fire_ **

Melanie swore. “What did that wretched Eye do to the world?”

Georgie shook her head, then realizing she couldn’t see it, said, “I don’t know. Now the entire sky is dark, red, green, and gray.” She paused, and both could hear the sounds of a world that was breaking from the inside out. “I’m scared, Melanie.”

Wordlessly they clung together, watching the horror unfold from their flat window. The flat across from theirs suddenly sprouted doors from every possible surface, flickering in vibrant, unnatural colors and shapes. The roads began to bubble as if they were melting, thick black ropes vining their way around buildings.

They didn’t move for a very long time, hoping against hope their home wouldn’t be the next nest of fear.

**_These are the things, the things we lost_ **

**_The things we lost in the fire, fire, fire_ **

~~~

The Scottish sun is much stronger than the drizzly days they had spent in London. The fresh air and light had worked its magic on Martin and Jon. No longer did Jon look like he was going to blow away at first gust. Martin seemed healthier than the broken man who had left the Lonely.

The Scottish sun was much stronger. Now all light came from the sky staring back at them through the Eye.

“Jon?” Martin lay curled on the bed, facing away from the window.

“Yes?”

“Are you-“ He was going to ask _are you okay_ when he realized, perhaps for the first time, that none of them were _okay_. “Are you going to sleep?” he asked instead.

“I don’t think I need to, not anymore,” came the hollow reply. Jon sat, back against the wall, eyes closed yet still Seeing. Still Watching.

“Do you want to try?”

“I don’t think I can, Martin.” But he still lay down next to Martin, their bodies making parentheses around the pillows.

**_We sat and made a list_ **

**_Of all the things we have_ **

“I’m glad you’re with me,” he said, tracing meaningless patterns on the back of his scarred hands.

“I ruined the world, Martin, why would you-“ Jon broke off as Martin muffled his face with a pillow.

“Shh, just let me enjoy this one little bit of comfort, okay?”

“Mphh.”

“I’ll let you talk if you promise not to be all spooky and depressing,” he said.

“I camph promphsi anwyatingf.” Martin lifted the pillow. “ _I said,_ I can’t promise anything.” At his stern look, Jon amended, “I’ll try.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s so loud, out there, all the agony and fear, but I have you. It’s quiet here,” he said softly.

“We have each other.” Jon squeezed his hand. “But that’s not all.”

“What do you mean?” His eyes were closed, trying to shut his Eyes to the world around and focus on what Martin was saying.

“We have this house, Jon. We have a soft bed, we have books, we have pillows and blankets, we have so much if we just look.”

“We have books.”

“We have the tapes.”

“You have poetry.”

**_Down the backs of tabletops_ **

**_Ticket stubs and your diary entries_ **

Back and forth they went, naming the few things in the new world they still had. Slowly, Martin fell asleep, Jon running over the list again and again in his mind. _You can’t take everything from me,_ he thought fiercely, watching the shadows dance on the wall.

It technically was night, the time when Martin would sleep and dream. When Jon would sit and wonder at all of the fear, wonder at all of the love and pain inside him.

It was during these times that he would feel the terror more clearly than anything else. When the sounds grew too sharp to listen too, he would sit on the floor, cross-legged. The wood jabbed his knees, grounding him in a different kind of pain. For hours he would stare at nothing in particular, trying to ignore a small cardboard box against the wall.

Eventually, he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Jon pulled the box to him, gingerly removing the lid. Nestled inside was a tape recorder, several tapes, Martin’s notebooks, odds and ends from their past lives.

**_I read them all one day_ **

**_When loneliness came and you were away_ **

Some nights he would turn on the tape and listen to the soft sounds of the Archives before the Fears had touched them. _Jon’s birthday. Martin’s birthday. Teasing Elias…_

Others he would flip through the notebooks, reading and re-reading the worn pages. Words written by the man he loved about pain and loneliness and spring.

**_Oh they told me nothing new_ **

**_But I love to read the words you used_ **

~~~

When Jon began to read the final statement, the Ceaseless Watcher inside of Elias purred in contentment. _Soon_ , it whispered. _Soon._

Elias Bouchard sighed, stamping out his cigarette. His plan had been a long time coming, orchestrated across hundreds of years, dozens of lives. Threads strung from every fear, linking avatars to his precious Archivist.

At first, it had been lonely work. Jonah Magnus wasn’t exactly the inviting type. His soul aged while his body was reborn.

When Elias met Peter Lukas, he seemed to share the same view: people were unnecessary distractions, uncomfortable to interact with. The Lonely and the Eye began to work together closely, spending more and more time together planning the end of the world.

**_I was the match and you were the rock_ **

**_Maybe we started this fire_ **

He could still remember their first wedding. Nobody came, as per Peter’s request. Even the attention of the Eye (and a very handsome avatar) couldn’t drive out the Lonely so deep in his soul. But in small bits and pieces, they were happy together.

It couldn’t work. Elias Knew that. But they kept trying. When it ended in divorce, he threw himself back into the work with renewed vigor.

Yet again, he found himself at the mercy of a certain grizzled boat captain. “Remember the tides, little man,” Peter said. “Pushing and pulling. The seashore does nothing, it lets the tide go out, waiting with open arms when it returns.” He nodded in understanding. _Remember the tides._

**_We sat apart and watched_ **

**_All we had burned on the pyre_ **

Partners in crime and constant partners in life, they pushed the world to become a better version of itself.

A bet, a dangerous gamble with his assistant cost Peter his life. Elias couldn’t blame the Archivist. People will do strange things for the people they love.

**_You said we were born with nothing_ **

**_And we sure have nothing now_ **

He sat back at his desk, feeling the ground beneath his feet warp with terror and power. _The Eye has opened at last…_

He pulled open a drawer packed to the brim with divorce papers and wedding certificates. Elias flipped through the stack, a lifetime of the tides pushing them together and pulling them apart. He pulled the wedding band off his finger and tucked it into the drawer, piling the papers on top of it.

**_You said we were born with nothing_ **

**_And we sure have nothing now_ **

~~~

Martin tucked blankets into two backpacks, adding them to the small collection of necessities. No food, no water, so they were quite light. He could hear the floorboards creak outside the room and hurriedly tucked them out of sight under the bed.

“Hey, Jon,” he said cautiously.

He collapsed on the floor next to Martin, leaning into his body. “I think-“ Jon said slowly, “I’m ready to leave here.”

“What?” Martin almost jerked back in surprise, but he caught himself and wrapped his arms around the smaller man.

“I think we should go back to the Archives,” he said quietly.

“Back to the Archives?”

“Yeah, it seems the best place to start.” Jon looked at him, slightly apprehensive.

“Oh! Yeah, alright,” he agreed.

“Martin, it’s going to be a hard journey-“

“I’ve actually had a couple bags packed for a while-“ They spoke at the same time.

Jon huffed in surprise as Martin continued to speak. “Um, I found some rope in the attic, and I packed some maps-“ He pulled out the backpacks.

**_Do you understand that we will never be the same again?_ **

**_Do you understand that we will never be the same again?_ **

“Martin,” he smiled fondly.

“And some tea-“ he continued.

“ _Martin_.”

“Y-yeah?”

“That’s lovely, thank you,” Jon pressed a kiss to his palm.

“Do you think it’ll help?” Martin asked, “You know, confronting Elias?”

He paused for a moment before answering. “Maybe? Gertrude didn’t think there would be a way to turn it back-“ His face fell, and Jon said firmly, “But she’s dead. Let’s find out for ourselves, shall we?”

Martin pulled him in close, almost squeezing the air out of his lungs. “Let’s go save the world.”

**_The future’s in our hands and we will never be the same again_ **

**_The future’s in our hands and we will never be the same again_ **

~~~

The trail Daisy left wasn’t hard to follow. Carnage left in her wake, Basira followed a bloody path of destruction.

“Where are you hiding?” she asked quietly.

_This journey was to find and neutralize a threat,_ she told herself sternly. _Nothing else._ A small, traitorous part of her wasn’t looking for the Hunter, but searching for the remnants of Detective Daisy Tonner. Smart and dedicated. The person she cared about.

Crouched low to the ground, she inspected a circle of ash and burnt wood. _She was here._

A piece of fabric lay near it, torn and caked with soot.

**_These are the things, the things we lost_ **

**_The things we lost in the fire, fire, fire_ **

It was the lapels of Daisy’s police uniform. _LONDON METROPOLITAN_ read the only clean part of the fabric.

Struck with a sudden fury, Basira pulled her own uniform shirt out of her bag. She didn’t know why she had brought it, nostalgia perhaps.

But she placed it on the ground and set a match to it, watching the fire consume it. The police had failed her, failed Daisy, failed the world. She burned the thought of an institution created for securing public safety but instead had allowed the apocalypse to happen.

_Bloody section 31…_

**_Flames- they licked the walls_ **

**_Tenderly they turned to dust all that I had_ **

**Author's Note:**

> no joke i wrote this without remembering that elias/peter's multiple divorces is IN FACT NOT CANNON  
> what???  
> anyways it is now so suck on that jonny and alex


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